


it is what it is, but (sometimes) it can get better

by You_Light_The_Sky



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Season 4 Spoilers, The final problem spoilers, Translation, Translation Available, tumblr drabble, 中文翻译 | Translation in Chinese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9359213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/You_Light_The_Sky/pseuds/You_Light_The_Sky
Summary: They get a dog. Well, one follows John home. It’s a brown poodle and it looks ridiculous with its puffed up fur, like a creature covered in pom-poms but… it looks up with John with the most ridiculous big eyes (like Rosie pouting at broccoli flavoured food or Sherlock trying to con his way out of eating) and John can’t tell it to shoo.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[授权翻译]it is what it is, but (sometimes) it can get better](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9638480) by [blankeyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blankeyes/pseuds/blankeyes)



> Because we need something concrete after that episode.

They get a dog. Well, one follows John home. It’s a brown poodle and it looks ridiculous with its puffed up fur, like a creature covered in pom-poms but… it looks up with John with the most ridiculous big eyes (like Rosie pouting at broccoli flavoured food or Sherlock trying to con his way out of eating) and John can’t tell it to shoo.

Sherlock refuses to let the poodle leave. “Her name is Victor,” he insists.

“Victor’s a girl’s name.”

“Names shouldn’t be restricted by gender. Besides, ‘Victor’ can be short for ‘Victoria’ if you insist on poisoning our newest member with gender norms.”

“Member? Are we a club now?”

“Don’t be silly, John, we’re the 221B detectives. Rosie’s the boss. Obviously. You’re the grunt.”

Rosie’s little laugh, from her crib, paints the moment in soft hues of sunshine.

“Fine, we can keep her,” John laughs. “But ask Mrs. Hudson first.”

“She’ll say yes if we put Victor side by side with Rosie. She can’t refuse _two_ adorable eyes, now can she?” Sherlock babbles to the little poodle. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you, Victor? Aren’t you?”

John grins, trying to imagine a little Sherlock playing with Redbeard before he remembers… well… there was no Redbeard. Not really.

Suddenly the name ‘Victor’ puts a darker edge on things.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

John says that sometimes, when he thinks Sherlock is dwelling on the woman or Redbeard or the Final Problem. The answer is always no. The answer is always more cases.

They don’t talk. And frankly, John would sooner put a bullet to his own head than talk about his own feelings. So why does he always insist on asking about Sherlock’s?

 _To prove that you can be a good person,_ not-Mary whispers in his ears, sometimes, still, on the bad days. There are always bad days. _To prove that you can be better too_.

John tightens his fists. These days, between Rosie and Sherlock, he’s not sure if he’s better. But he wants to god damn try.

“Victor…” Sherlock says, to John’s surprise, “… was my best friend. And I forgot him.”

Something sinks in John’s throat. “That… must have been hard,” he says, and then wants to kick himself for that. His respect for Therapists suddenly rises. 

“I don’t want to forget again. Emotions… _Feelings,_ they… have more value then I’ve ever dared to consider. Eurus showed me that. _You_ showed me that.”

John feels his ears, his cheeks, go hot. “Well,” the words get stuck in his throat. Why is this so hard? Why are words so difficult and heavy and murky like mud clinging to his lungs? “I didn’t do much. I just blog about things and yell and lose my temper.”

“Still,” Sherlock doesn’t look at him, “you… you’re my best _everything_.”

John’s eyes widen.

Victor suddenly jumps on him, slobbering John in sticky dog kisses, prompting bursts of laughter from both of them. The moment passes.

**

It’s easier to move back in with Sherlock, to limit the lab to Sherlock’s room, to have the crib in John’s. They have a spare crib in Sherlock’s room in case John can’t watch her. The skull gets plastered over with sesame street stickers and Sherlock makes Rosie watch _Bill Nye the Science Guy_ instead of _Blues Clues_  because Blug Dogs don’t make sense to Sherlock (like John hasn’t seen Sherlock try to puzzle out how one would genetically modify a dog to be blue, he keeps Victor in his room after that.)

They decorate the flat with paper flowers that hang in the air for Rosie to reach for. Sherlock insists on video-blogging everything Rosie does as a record for the developmental processes of children and Mycroft complains every time Sherlock sends him the videos (they both know Mycroft will save the files later and always gets Rosie ridiculously posh baby clothes.) Victor sometimes gives Rosie rides on his back (which, frankly, freaked John out until he saw how careful the dog was with her. That didn’t stop Sherlock from renovating the floors with soft ABC mats for Rosie to roll around on in case she falls.)

They fight, of course. Explosive arguments about bringing Rosie to crime scenes or playing violin at night. Arguments about John coming to visit Eurus too (no, don’t, too dangerous, what if what if what if) or trying to get Sherlock to contact Irene (why should I, I have you here don’t I) or John moving out (no, don’t, I’ll clean the flat every hour, I’ll put experiments in the bathroom instead of the kitchen, stay with me, stay).

But they laugh more. They smile more. They feel like John and Sherlock before the Fall. Before Sherlock-as-the-sociopath died and came back as Sherlock-the-human-being (or maybe the human was there all along and John still has trouble seeing it just as Sherlock still has trouble seeing John-the-person instead of John-the-soldier or John-the-light-conductor.)

It is what it is. Yes. but it’s so much more.

It’s better.

**

When the time comes to register Rosie for school, John says, “You know, we should just call her Watson-Holmes instead of just Watson. I keep telling them to add you as a custodial parent but Mycroft keeps saying the paperwork is delayed…”

Sherlock almost drops his violin.

“…Watson-Holmes?” he says cautiously.

“Um. Yes? She’s your daughter too. I mean, with all the chemistry she’s picked up from you, I expect she’ll be running around terrorizing London soon.”

“…Are you happy, John?”

“…What?”

Sherlock moves in, eyes intense and burning. “Are you _happy_ , John?”

“I…” he thinks of Rosie following Sherlock like a duck, wearing the deer-stalker hat and then throwing it on her ‘Uncle Sherlock’s’ lap because she can. He thinks of Sherlock smiling softly at him when he thinks John isn’t looking. He thinks of visiting Eurus with Sherlock, watching them both play violin, and wishing he could stay with this man forever. Shouldn’t it be obvious?

But… he looks at Sherlock’s desperate face. Mrs. Hudson was right, all those years ago, Sherlock lives on emotion.

And some things… they have to be said.

“You irritate the hell out of me,” John blurts out, watching Sherlock go blank for a moment, “and you’re a right bastard but… you make me happy, Sherlock. You make me want to live. You and Rosie.” The dog at his feet barks. “And Victor,” he adds, because that damn poodle is as needy as the rest of his family.

Sherlock turns away. “Good,” he says.

**

The next day, Sherlock shoves a marriage certificate in John’s face.

“Really?” John tries not to laugh. “You’re not going to buy me dinner first?”

“Angelo’s! When we first met!”

“I don’t think you paid at all.”

“I make sure you eat. I _do_. Now, will you sign this or not?”

**

He has two rings on his left hand now. One for Mary. One for Sherlock. Just as Rosie has two dads and Victor has two official owners.

And he’s happy.


End file.
